


Spicy (And Oh So Sweet)

by escritoireazul



Category: Roswell (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Halloween, ToT: Monster Mash, Trick or Treat: Chocolate Box, Trick or Treat: Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-18 22:22:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12397437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escritoireazul/pseuds/escritoireazul
Summary: “Well,” he shuffles his feet, rubs the back of his neck. He’s so confident most of the time. It’s strange to see him like this, and kind of nice, too, though she likes his confidence just as much as everything else about him. “Spicy and sweet. I kind of get it now.”





	Spicy (And Oh So Sweet)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lionessvalenti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/gifts).



Kyle watches, face all scrunched up in a frown, as she pours Tabasco all over her pancakes. They’re already swimming in maple syrup, and the thin red liquid sits on top of it. Maybe she should have doused them in hot sauce first and then syrup. She squints down at her plate, considering.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Kyle asks after awhile.

Tess looks up, startled. She hadn’t forgotten he was there, it would be impossible to do that, but she was comfortable with him around. Comfortable enough that she settled into his presence without any worry about what she was and was not supposed to be doing or what was or was not destined to happen.

He sounds strange, and it takes her a moment to figure out why: he’s nervous.

She boggles at him, then smiles so wide it makes her cheeks ache. He’s _nervous_. He made these pancakes for her, because she’d never had homemade pancakes before, and he bought real maple syrup even though he and Sheriff Valenti -- Jim, he’s told her to call him, but she’s struggling with that -- usually use the fake stuff, if they use it at all. And these are actually homemade, not from a box, but from an old handwritten recipe card tucked into inside a dusty old cookbook. The kitchen looks like there was an explosion of pancake batter, and he has flour on his nose and shoulder, streaked down the front of his shirt.

It’s the kindest thing anyone has ever done for her.

“Of course I am,” she promises. “I’m savoring the moment.”

He laughs and ducks his head, but not before she can see how his cheeks have gone pink. “It’s not that big a deal,” he says.

It is. It really, really is. But saying that will just embarrass him further, and she doesn’t want to do that. Well, not much.

She makes a show of cutting a big piece of pancake and liberally coating it in the Tabasco and syrup mix that is gathering on the plate. She shoves the whole thing into her mouth, ready to love it no matter what.

And she does.

It’s too soft in the center and yet, somehow, crisp at the edges where he’s managed to both overcook it and undercook it, but it is delicious, sweet and spicy at the same time, and chewy, and he made it just for her.

“It’s great,” she tells him, not bothering to finish chewing first, one hand over her mouth so she doesn’t spray her food. “So good.”

“Yeah?” He looks up, and his smile goes wider when she nods fast. “Great. That’s -- great.”

He tucks into his own pancakes then, but at his first bite, his eyes go wide. “Oh hell,” he says, the word strangled. “That’s disgusting.”

“No it’s not!” She takes another bite, chews it quickly. “It’s good, really.”

Kyle rolls his eyes, huffs, but he’s still smiling. “No, it’s not. You don’t have to pretend. It’s burnt and mushy and I used too much salt and--”

“I like them,” she says. It’s honest, and it stops his grumpy babbling. “It’s delicious. Thank you for making them for me.”

That frown again, then he shrugs. “I’ll do better next time,” he promises. It sends a little thrill shooting through her, that he not only made her a special meal once but that he plans to do it again. “Is it better with all that?” He gestures to her plate.

She lifts one shoulder. “Don’t know what it’s like without it,” she says, then sets the bottle of hot sauce in front of him. “Try it.”

He holds it in his hand a minute, staring at it. She goes back to eating. No matter what he says about the pancakes not being right, she really does love them. When she sees him sprinkle hot sauce on his food, she smiles around her fork.

Kyle adds more syrup, too, and all he gives is a noncommittal, “Not terrible,” when she asks, but he eats it all, and she does too, and the company is even better than the food.

*

“He made you breakfast?” Liz asks. They’re eating lunch with Maria and Isabel, sitting on the balcony outside Liz’s room. The sun is bright, and though the other three are wearing sunglasses, Tess basks in the light.

“Pancakes,” she says. Takes a bite of chocolate cream pie that Liz brought up from the Crashdown. Adds a little more hot sauce. Liz tries hard to make everyone happy and almost has the right mix of sweet and spice down, but not quite -- or maybe she knows what Max likes, but it’s not ever spicy enough for Tess. “He said they were both undercooked and overcooked, somehow.” She shakes her head, and adds, out of loyalty and out of truth, “They were good.”

Maria laughs. “Only Kyle,” she says. “Fails both directions.”

“I liked them.” Tess frowns at her.

“You liked something,” Maria says and laughs again.

Tess glances at Liz, because she knows dating is weirdly complicated here, but Liz is smiling.

“The pan was too hot,” she says. “And he probably poured them a little thick. I’ll drop that hint next time he comes in the cafe. Burns the edges, doesn’t make it all the way through the batter.”

“Don’t embarrass him,” Tess says before she thinks about it. It comes out sharp, and she tries to soften it by adding a quiet, “Please.”

Liz nods. “I won’t,” she says. “I want to encourage him to do it again, not scare him off from cooking.”

Isabel stretches out her long legs, points her toes. Her feet are bare, her toes painted a pastel pink with neon pink sparkles in the polish. “Cooking you a special meal,” she says. “Boy’s got it bad.” Even in the sunlight, she’s cool and composed, and Tess can’t read her expression.

She blushes, ducks her head. “He’s kind,” she says. It’s not enough, but she doesn’t know what else to say.

“He’s a good guy,” Liz agrees.

The talk turns to school and Halloween. Tess tips her face into the sun and closes her eyes.

*

“We don’t get many trick or treaters here,” Sheriff Valenti -- Jim -- says one night when he’s actually made it home in time to eat dinner with them.

Kyle snorts. “No one wants to hit up the sheriff’s house,” he says. “More candy for me.” He stops, and Tess catches him glancing at her, but by the time she looks up, he’s focused on his pizza again. “For us,” he adds.

The Sheriff smiles, but one corner of his mouth turns down. “You used to eat yourself sick,” he said. “Remember that time with the vampire bucket?”

“Oh god, stop,” Kyle says. “No one needs to hear that story again.”

“ _I_ need to hear it,” Tess says. “Desperately.”

Kyle groans and buries his face in his hands. The Sheriff -- Jim -- tells stories about Halloweens past for the rest of dinner. Tess can’t stop grinning.

*

Jim isn’t wrong. There’s only a handful of trick or treaters brave enough to risk coming to the sheriff’s house. Smart enough, maybe, because Kyle and Tess give out full size candy bars, and when a costume is particularly clever or adorable, Tess will give them two. Maybe three.

“You’re cutting into my stash,” Kyle stage whispers at one point, and she shoves him away with a laugh.

It’s not too late before the doorbell stops ringing. They shut off the lights and flop onto the couch together to watch horror movies. With anyone else -- Maria in particular -- Tess would be bracing herself for something about how terrible aliens are, but she trusts Kyle not to do that to her.

Sure enough, he puts in something ridiculous and cheesy, with terrible special effects and dialog that makes her roll her eyes and laugh when it’s supposed to be serious, but Kyle keeps muttering snarky asides, and once or twice he even throws popcorn at the screen. She likes that a lot, and tries it out for herself.

“You’re helping me clean this up,” he tells her when there’s a mess between them and the television.

“Oh, well, in that case,” and she throws popcorn at him. He shouts and grabs for her, digging his fingers into her sides so that she shrieks with laughter. In their tussle, the popcorn bowl gets upended all over them, leaving popcorn in her hair and down his shirt and butter smeared across their faces and hands.

“You’re a mess,” she tells him, smirking. “Do I have to help clean you up too?”

She means it lighthearted, but from the look on his face, it hasn’t landed like that. He’s intense, his smile gone, and he’s breathing hard. She is, too. Maybe from wrestling, but maybe from something else. He’s sort of bracketing her with his body, one hand on the arm of the couch, the other braced against the back. He’s very close. She could tip up her face and --

\-- and she does. She can taste butter and salt on his lips, and his mouth is warm when it opens against hers. His tongue slips across her lower lip, dragging a groan out of her. She grabs his shirt with both hands, tugging him closer, until he sinks between her legs, lets his weight rest against her.

They kiss until her lips ache and her breath is uneven, until her body burns. He kisses her jaw, down the side of her throat, sucks heat into her skin and touches his tongue to it after. She arches and cries out and clutches at him. He holds her back just as tight.

There’s a noise outside, like a car in the driveway, and they break apart, breathing hard.

It’s not the sheriff, though, and when the car pulls out again -- just turning around -- they slump together.

“I didn’t --” Kyle stops. “I’ve wanted to do that for awhile.”

“Yeah?” Tess can’t help but beam at him, even though she knows she’s blushing. It’s such a human thing to do, and it makes her wonder how that, of all things, is how the human part of her shows true.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat, shifts his weight. Oh so casually knocks a blanket off the back of the couch so that it falls across his lap.

Oh. _Oh_. She’s seen enough tv to know what that means. She wiggles in her seat, feeling smug and satisfied. It’s a little like how she felt when he made her pancakes that first time, like he’s done something special, just for her.

Or, she guesses, she’s the one who did something this time. She laughs a little, pleased with herself.

“Okay, didn’t expect that response,” he says.

“It’s good,” she promises, and then kisses him again. Because she wants to. Because she can.

*

The next day, she can’t stop smiling, giddy and silly. Everyone notices. Some of them tease her. She tries not to let on what’s happened, but they’re so much better at this normal teenage girl thing than she is, and she knows she blushes every time, giving it away.

At lunch, Kyle sits next to her. She tries not to stare at him, but looks often enough she can see he’s turned red all the way to the back of his neck. They don’t hold hands or anything like that, but he does bump his leg against hers a couple times.

She likes how he feels, warm and strong against her.

After school, they’re all meeting at the Crashdown for food and to hang out with Liz and Maria while they work. (And, okay, because there aren’t that many places in Roswell where they can spend time and feel safe.)

Kyle stops her outside. Hands her four little bags. Candy bags, filled with jelly beans. Each bag holds all the same colors, and each is a different color from the other. The bag with the deep red ones is almost full to the top, the others half full.

She raises her eyebrows at him.

“Tabasco,” he says, touching the bag of red jelly beans. “And the others are different sweet flavors, caramel corn, toasted marshmallow, things like that. I thought you could, you know, find the combination you like best.”

“Tabasco,” she repeats, because she’s never heard of a candy with hot sauce already in it.

“Well,” he shuffles his feet, rubs the back of his neck. He’s so confident most of the time. It’s strange to see him like this, and kind of nice, too, though she likes his confidence just as much as everything else about him. “Spicy and sweet. I kind of get it now.”

It makes her laugh, and grab him, careful not to drop any of the candy. He puts his arms around her, smiles down at her. Holds her while she rises up on tiptoes to kiss him.

Not even Maria’s wolf whistle makes them stop.

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline is a bit vague, because I don't think Jelly Belly had put out its Tabasco jelly beans that long ago, but they're too great to leave out. Also: surprisingly hot.


End file.
